Right after Charlotte died, in the midst of all of the haze of anger and sadness, I got this feeling that I was embarking on a long journey. Like each day living with and coping with my grief was a footstep that was taking me somewhere. Months later, I started to feel like you do on a trip....so anxious to get there so that you can enjoy the beach or wherever it is you're headed.
I've recently realized that this journey doesn't end. There is no beach, not really. I did set out on a journey, but it's one that just goes on. The scenery has gotten nicer. The drive has become more comfortable. But there is no destination. (I am illogical bothered that in my last paragraph I talked about it as a journey of steps but have now mixed my metaphor by placing myself in a car. Once an English major, always...)
I don't mean this as bleak as it may sound. It's not that life is this unending journey of pain. Far from it. It's just that there is no end point. There is no point at which I will arrive at the end of my daughter's death and say, "I'm here!" The journey of grief is one that becomes a part of my journey of life, and that's ok.
I still miss Charlotte every day. I still think of her every day. She's my daughter, and being her mother is as much a part of me as the color of my eyes.
I love being her mother.
That said, some days the journey is still hard. Some days I need someone to remind me that I'm still moving. Some days it's harder to appreciate the scenery.
The journey doesn't end. It just goes on. I'm learning to embrace that.